


On and On and On Again (If My Chest Don’t Cave In)

by AetherAria



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Established Relationship, Lizard Kissin' Tuesday (Penumbra Podcast), Long-Term Relationship(s), Multi, Second Citadel (Penumbra Podcast), Tenderness, The Passing of Time, olala MENTIONED but only really a cameo, which nearly features as a character in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:42:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27120601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AetherAria/pseuds/AetherAria
Summary: It's only a matter of time, Arum thinks. Again, and again, and again. It is only a matter of time.
Relationships: Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla (Penumbra Podcast)
Comments: 32
Kudos: 102





	On and On and On Again (If My Chest Don’t Cave In)

**Author's Note:**

> Hey. This is, technically speaking, my hundredth fic on ao3. Seemed like an appropriate one, for that. I love you? I love you. I hope you can find some gentleness. I hope my sappiness makes you smile, just a little. Title from the song Rounds, by The Oh Hellos, because their four winds series is the only thing i listened to while writing this.

It cannot last, Arum thinks.

It cannot last. It's only a matter of time, only a ticking clock before this _thing_ they are _trying_ breaks beneath them and Arum is left alone again. Left worse off, even, than when he began, for the knew knowledge of what he will inevitably lack.

He endeavors not to let on to these thoughts, when he is with Damien and Amaryllis in truth. It will only speed the process, he thinks, and despite himself he cannot bear the idea of being the one to chase the nervous joy from Damien's expression, or the delight and curiosity from Amaryllis'.

Arum is the one who pressed Sir Damien into it, after all. He will realize his error soon enough, likely, but it is Arum who pressed him to _try_ and he does not wish to be the one to press him _out_ of it. Not yet.

It makes him feel greedy. That racing clock above his head, an unknown and unknowable breaking point past which he will no longer be able to learn these creatures, to spend time with them, to reach out a hand and have them reach back. He stifles these feelings too, with less reliable conviction. The urge to pull them closer is so much more intoxicating than the urge to push them away.

He is allowed much more time with them than he would otherwise be, in those first few weeks after the Terminus. The excuse of both of their injuries and the celebration in the Citadel of this new victory (as they call it, as if in their optimism they can transform barely-averted destruction into a glory instead) mean that they are easily able to excuse themselves from duty to convalesce.

He is grateful for that. Quietly.

He may argue with Amaryllis for as long as he desires, he may test to see how close Sir Damien will allow him, he may watch the way they slot together and marvel at how impossible it seems, now, that he did not know that they were two twined beings the moment he met them. Amaryllis calms Damien, with little touches, with bars of song, with gentle looks and smiles, and she looks at Damien with such warmth, is engrossed with his stories and poems even when she has clearly heard them before, and they-

They love each other. They are _right_ together. And when they turn towards Arum and lift their hands, when they invite his cool scales against their warm bodies, when Damien gives a tentative smile and Amaryllis kisses him, he feels the desire flash and boil in his center, the greedy longing to be a part of their affection.

For the moment, however short it may be.

He will not allow himself to become too comfortable with this arrangement, he decides. It is only a matter of time until it will end.

  
  


* * *

  
  


It cannot last, which is why the first time they tell him that they love him, Arum panics.

(He loves them. He suspects that he loved Amaryllis when he first shoved her out the door. It would be foolish to say that he loved Sir Damien after only two duels and a threat to his life, but- he wanted to, at least, even then. Now, now he is _certain_ that he loves them. He has only failed to tell them because-)

It _cannot_ last, and love is- love has a ring of _permanence_ , and Arum cannot trust- cannot believe-

He calms down, with a little time. A little time, and perhaps a degree of prompting and soothing, and- well. If it is only a matter of time before it ends, then he should not waste the time he has, should he?

Sir Damien looks so _relieved_ when Arum tells them that he loves them. Amaryllis smiles, in that small, soft, rare sort of way. They are so _happy_ , and he loves them too much to begrudge them that, to begrudge them their delight in the way he is pulling pieces of himself out, fully knowing that when this is all over, when they leave, they will take those pieces with them.

Arum has always possessed a certain degree of self-destruction.

He will hold them while he can, love them while they love him in return, and when it is over he will take whatever hurt that comes.

  
  


* * *

  
  


It cannot last. It cannot last. It _cannot_ last, and Arum is more convinced by the day that he is nearing the end.

Damien is maudlin and still and silent in a way that makes Arum's heart fill with ice, with terror, and Amaryllis is busy and easily frustrated and does not seem to smile so much anymore, and Arum _loves them_ and neither of them even seem to _look_ at him, anymore.

Arum is making things worse. Almost deliberately, now. If Damien is hiding something, then Arum need not speak to _him_ , either. If Amaryllis wishes to take his talents and his supplies and his welcome for granted... well, then she is welcome to do so, he supposes. He feels _foolish_ , feels like he may as well be screaming at them to simply _notice_ him, and not a bit of it is doing any _good_ , anyway. He hasn't the first clue how to make this _work_ , and it is obvious in a way that _stings_ that he is the weak strut in their construction. A failure. This relationship is a _failure_ , and _he_ is the one who failed it.

He sighs, and sags, and fills himself with fury to drown out the fear and hurt. It was always going to be a matter of time, and it is only a small heartbreak that their time together was so short.

(So terribly short. Barely settled into comfort before their attention began to drift, before they seemed to _bore_ of him, before the brightness of their own connection seemed to overshadow any chance Arum had at keeping them-)

It is almost a relief when Sir Marc comes to interrupt them. He can take some guilty, spiteful joy at Amaryllis' fury, if nothing else, and it will be good for Arum to have some creature to pay his attention to besides his Keep and his theoretical lovers.

He is fond of Olala the moment he meets her. Not, of course, that he would share that.

The hatchling stirs his sympathies, this little monster pretending to be human- he understands her. Understands the desperate desire to be wanted, to be a part of something. He admires her brightness, her bravery, her attentive desire to learn-

Rather. He _thought_ he understood her.

Little childling, braver than she should need to be, summoning whatever protective instincts Arum possesses, and Damien nearly seems to glow as he guides her through her fears, talented little prattler that he is-

Prattler, and practiced knight, he reminds himself as Sir Damien carries him through the air with barely a breath of effort. Arum is not sure how he had let himself forget precisely how impressive his poet can be.

They save each other. It is almost easy, when the squabbling is left by the wayside.

They speak properly when they are home.

They speak, as perhaps they should have rather a long time ago.

He still does not have the words to explain… to explain his conviction that this will end. His conviction that Amaryllis and Damien's love for each other will outlive their love for him-

Some things can be mended. It cannot last, but if the smaller cracks can be sealed, if the shakiness can be steadied, if Amaryllis can revivify the past itself for a glimpse of hope, if Damien can utterly change the course of his life for the lessons they have learned together-

Arum can meet them there. Can try a little harder, can love them better and prove himself worthy of their efforts, their time.

It cannot last. But perhaps, together, they can make it last just a little while longer.

* * *

Amaryllis trims back her hair, and it bounces with new lightness to her shoulders when she does not tie it up, and she grins and she _knows_ she is beautiful enough to stun he and Damien both to silence, and Arum cannot help it when he thinks, _love me until it is just that long again_.

Just a little longer. It cannot last. _Just a little longer_.

* * *

Arum blinks, and the way they have twined with his life suddenly blares like a horn.

Amaryllis keeps a tin of his meditative tea always stocked in her pantry, and she sets the water to boil when she hears the Keep sing as it pulls the portal open for him to come join her. Damien will converse with his Keep for hours, and he only needs Arum to translate the more complex ideas these days. Amaryllis' books are scattered among his own, alongside collections of poetry Damien has acquired, or penned himself. The macrachnids scuttle and squall in delight when the humans pay them attention, affectionate scratching and chasing games and, of course, no treats whatsoever.

Arum knows how Amaryllis prefers her eggs to be cooked, knows the flowers that make Damien sneeze, knows how Amaryllis tugs on her hair when she is too tired to think not to, knows the tone in Damien's voice that means he is spiraling towards panic, knows how to tell Amaryllis with a glance, knows the words to say and the songs to sing to help ease him back down.

They have fit themselves into each others lives, just as neatly and gently as they fit into each others arms.

He cannot bear the thought of how hard it will be, to tear up all these roots. It is only a matter of time until he will need to, after all.

He curls his hand around Amaryllis', draws it to his mouth, bites gently at her knuckles to make her cackle and smack his shoulder.

A little longer still, he thinks. A little longer. Another day, another week-

A little longer they will love him, and the months wend slowly by.

* * *

Arum knows what will come for him, eventually: the pain of inevitable parting, the end of this interlude. He knows. So he cannot possibly explain why it is that when he wakes just as the sun is rising, and the light crests the bedroom like a tide of honey, and Amaryllis scrunches her sleeping face and slaps a hand through the air, and Damien blinks lazily and _smiles_ into the gold as if he can feel it to his heart-

Arum cannot possibly explain why the only thought in his mind is, _I want only this, forever_.

He does not catch himself until much later in the day, after they have both left the Keep, Damien to go meet with Sir Angelo and Amaryllis to fulfill an appointment with a patient too infirm to meet her at the hut. He remembers the morning and his heart thrums like something out of Damien's poetry, and then-

The specter of _forever_ looms.

An impossible dream, and one that Arum had thought himself well-inoculated against. _It cannot last_ like a mantra, a certainty he has been telling himself for years now.

For... for years, now.

Something within him goes utterly still.

Certainly, certainly that cannot mean anything beyond the fact that he has been loving on borrowed time for far longer than he deserves. It cannot mean anything else, of course. It _cannot_ last. _They_ cannot last, it is only a matter of time before-

When Arum murmurs _honeysuckle_ into the skin behind Damien's ear, he can hear the way the poet's heart skips, every single time. When Amaryllis writes with ink rather than using her recorder she will always, always forget her quill and stain her fingers and the point of her chin with the ink, forgetting to mind the nib.

Arum has been hoarding these memories with the fervor of a starving creature, certain that they would, someday, be the only thing he has left.

He has been hoarding them, piece by shining piece, for years now, and each and every moment feels woven into his fabric. He loves them. He has loved them. He _will_ love them forever, even if they will not be _together_ forever.

It cannot last, but Arum will give them as much of himself as they desire, for as long as they desire.

* * *

" _Saints_ I could marry you," Amaryllis says with a fond laugh, and Arum's next complaint about the effects of the recent drought goes sympathetically dry on his tongue.

She laughs, her cheeks dark and hot, one hand pressing over her mouth as Damien looks at her with a love that _buzzes_ in the air, and Arum feels the idea of _forever_ pulsing at his center. _Forever, forever, for all of time, if you will have me_ -

Arum takes their hands, and he drops to his knees.

* * *

The gray at Damien's temples is so beautiful, so fascinating. He falls in love again, falls in love with the way the lines of Amaryllis' face change with the curve of her smile, falls in love with every little evidence of the passing time they wear with such grace.

He could fall in love with time, when it sings so sweetly between all three of them. He could fall in love with it, perhaps, could forget the blade that it holds over his head, could love it for the sake of the way it touches his spouses, could love time for letting him love them anew each day, as each of them change, as they change _together_.

A matter of time, he thinks, and this time he _smiles_.

* * *

It cannot last, Arum still thinks, once in a great long while. Old habits are hard to break, especially when he expended so much effort to cultivate them in the first place. It is, he thinks softly, only a matter of time-

But that is, of course, only because _everything_ is, in the end.

Arum cannot begrudge time, cannot fault the Universe as it meanders along its course, moving only ever forward. Arum has been spoiled with time, after all. He has been loved so much more deeply and so much more sturdily than he could have dreamed. So small and frightened a creature he once was, imagining eternity as a closed door he could not see, a locked door he was destined to run headlong into.

Someday, in some way, their love will end as all things do.

In the meantime, Arum will love, and he will be loved. He will kiss their hands, he will hold them, he will learn them every single day, and they will love.

Perhaps not forever, but for now, and for as many nows as they have left.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] On And On And On Again (If My Chest Don't Cave In)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28963161) by [screamingatstars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/screamingatstars/pseuds/screamingatstars)




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